


so, here we go under the mistletoe

by parchmints



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, First Kiss, Getting Together, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, M/M, Mistletoe, Modern Era, Pining Sylvain Jose Gautier, dorothea being an agent of chaos, hilda being a wing man For a Price
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29109294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parchmints/pseuds/parchmints
Summary: Sylvain is in love with his best friend and unfortunately, him and said best friend are caught under the mistletoe.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 3
Kudos: 104





	so, here we go under the mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parknerish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parknerish/gifts).



> I know it's almost february but here's a sylvix christmas fic i've been working on that of COURSE didn't finish in time for the actual holidays. Oh, well. 
> 
> Anyway, HAPPY HOLIDAYS [HOJO](https://twitter.com/astrodeku/status/1332094172698959875)!!! Hope you like your secret santa gift, love <3 
> 
> Thanks to [Austin](https://twitter.com/angst_in_space) for betaing, you absolute legend!!

_so, here we go under the mistletoe_

Sylvain’s got it bad. He knows it, alright? But despite how desperate it makes him seem, when Felix arrives at Dorothea’s massive annual Christmas bash, Sylvain rushes to greet him. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Grinch who stole my heart,” Sylvain says, flashing Felix a grin and leaning in. 

Predictably, Felix scowls at him, then shoves his coat at Sylvain. “You’re annoying.” 

Sylvain lets out a long-suffering sigh as he hangs Felix’s coat for him (because he’s a gentleman, thank you _very much._ ) He’s been testing the waters for weeks with some light flirting here and there, but Felix continues to assume Sylvain is making fun of him and bats him away like a particularly annoying fly. What’s that saying? Insanity is flirting with the same person over and over again and expecting different results? Something like that.

“Want a drink?” Sylvain says. 

“As long as it’s nothing fruity.” 

“That’s rich coming from you,” Sylvain says with a wink. 

“What do you—” Felix starts, before realization sets in and he glares daggers at him again. “You’re so _annoying_.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Sylvain says, turning toward the kitchen. “C’mon, we’ll find you a boring heterosexual beer.” 

“Alcohols don’t have sexualities, you absolute moron,” Felix grumbles, but he follows Sylvain all the same, staying close. Warmth bubbles in Sylvain’s chest at their proximity. Sylvain’s been quietly suffering for weeks after he made his little _realization_ , but that doesn’t stop him from enjoying his time with Felix. It’s … a gift getting to spend time with him. Even if Felix will only see him as his idiot best friend forever. 

The kitchen is packed with other party goers and Sylvain knows Felix isn’t a fan of big crowds, so he stops him. “Let’s wait for it to clear out a little.” 

Felix cranes his head to check and when he seems satisfied, he nods. “Good call.” 

“So, you doin’ okay?” Sylvain says, scratching at his chin. “I know parties can be … _overwhelming_.” 

Felix scoffs. “I’m fine. Don’t coddle me.” 

“I’m not coddling you, I’m checking in on you,” Sylvain says. “Friends do that sometimes.”

“You do it too much.” 

“I do it the appropriate amount.” 

“I’m not arguing with—”

“Felix and Sylvain are under the mistletoe!” 

Sylvain’s heart stops at the words as he slowly looks up and, indeed, finds Dorothea’s little PDA party favor above them. 

_Uh oh._

Sylvain looks back at Felix who’s glaring at him like it’s his fault. Sylvain raises his hands in defense. 

“Don’t look at me,” Sylvain says. 

“C’mon, you guys gotta kiss,” Dorothea says, no, _sings_. She’s nothing less than gleeful at everything mistletoe entails—a sexy little piece of gossip for the next day. It’s all in good fun, though. Sylvain’s sure no one would mind if they—

The crowd of people in Dorothea’s living room chants “KISS! KISS! KISS!” in perfect rhythm. Okay, so it’s a full-on peer pressure situation. Cool. 

Felix faces Sylvain, scowling. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“What—” 

But Felix is already leaning in and well, Sylvain isn’t going to turn him down. 

They kiss. Barely. Sylvain couldn’t tell you if Felix’s lips were soft or chapped if you put a gun to his head. Still, the crowd goes wild, then goes right back to their drinks and conversation. 

A burst of red hair pushes through the crowd and latches onto Felix. 

“Felix, play King’s Cup with me,” Annette says, already pulling him toward the dining room. 

“I don’t even have my own drink yet—” 

Annette scoffs, still dragging him. “It’s _King’s Cup_. C’mon, I’ve got twenty dollars against Mercie that you’re going to be terrible at it. Hi, Sylvain!”

“Hey, Annie.” 

“Wait you bet _against_ me?” Felix says before they disappear into the throng. Sylvain didn’t even get a chance to see his reaction to their brief kiss. He guesses Felix was probably sneering. Sylvain had hopes that maybe his ears would be red or he’d be at least a _little_ flustered whilst sneering. 

Sylvain’s heart sinks and he suddenly feels very alone despite being surrounded by so many people. 

Life’s been hard ever since he realized he was in love with his best friend. 

Normally, Sylvain’s coping mechanism when life is hard is a stiff drink and a one-night stand, but apparently being in love has made casual sex utterly unappealing. 

God. He’s _in love._ With _Felix_. He’s in love with Felix. 

_Fuck me,_ Sylvain thinks, which is what he always thinks whenever he starts having an “I love Felix but Felix will never love me back” pity party. 

His depressing reverie is (thankfully) interrupted by a strong grip on his wrist. 

“Oh my god, _Sylvain_ ,” Hilda says, eyes full of mischief. “C’mon.” 

Sylvain lets himself be taken through the crowd to a mostly deserted hallway away from the chatter and Christmas music. Hilda lets him go and turns on him, excited. 

“Well,” she says, bouncing on her feet. “How was it?” 

“How was what?” 

“The _kiss_ ,” Hilda whispers fiercely. “You kissed Felix.” 

“What? Are you in middle school?” Sylvain says, near laughing. 

“Aw, c’mon! You should have seen your face. It was like someone hit you over the head with a punch bowl,” Hilda says. 

She’s the only person in the world Sylvain has told. He was content to let it fester in his heart until it died, but he got a little too drunk one night and called Hilda. Even to his drunken self, she seemed like the best option. Mercie, Annie, Dimitri, Ingrid … he loved them but they were all too close to Felix for his secret to be anything more than a burden. Luckily, the thought of Hilda and Felix gossiping (or having a heart-to-heart) was laughable at best, so she was semi-safe. 

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “It was nothing. I got more action during spin-the-bottle when we were thirteen.”

“There was no spark?” Hilda asks, tilting her head. “Not even a tiny one?” 

“C’mon, how am I supposed to feel a spark when it lasted point-two seconds?” Sylvain says. 

Hilda leans in, studying his face then pulls away when she’s satisfied. “You’re upset.” 

“What? No, I’m not.” 

“Yeah, you are,” Hilda says. “I kind of thought you’d be all dopey and in love, but you’re … not.” 

Sylvain squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Hilda, it was a mistletoe kiss. He was _forced_ to do it. Sorry if I’m not all moony over our first kiss being the product of an archaic peer pressure-induced tradition.” 

“ _Oh,_ I get it. You wanted it to be special,” Hilda says, then winces. “I’m sorry, Sylvain.” 

This is why Sylvain should have just … not said anything. He appreciates Hilda trying to look out for him, but she doesn’t seem to understand that Sylvain’s feelings are fated to be crushed. 

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just count it as kiss zero,” Sylvain says with a smile. He doesn’t want Hilda to worry, but in reality, he’s pretty sure kiss zero is going to be kiss only. And despite how fleeting the kiss was, his lips burn from it. He’s been struggling not to press his fingers against them since it happened. 

Hilda whistles. “You are in deep, my friend. When are you going to tell him?” 

“Never?” Sylvain says. Hilda glares at him. “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. We’re—he’s my best friend.” 

Hilda’s eyes soften and she places a gentle hand on Sylvain’s elbow. “That’s why you have to tell him.” 

Maybe there’s some logic to that, but Sylvain can’t really see it. Is it really worth ruining the best, most stable relationship in his life just for the _chance_ Felix might feel the same? 

“I’ll … think about it.” 

That seems to be enough for Hilda as she places her hands on her hips and smiles triumphantly. “Well, either way, if you buy me dinner, I’ll support you through the whole thing. Just say the word.” 

“Your generosity knows no bounds,” Sylvain says, smiling despite himself. 

“Yeah, yeah. Now, c’mon, you gotta make me a drink for all my good advice.” 

It’s a great party, honestly. Plenty of booze, good company, and gorgeous girls. It’s just too bad all Sylvain can think about is Felix. He keeps looking for him in the crowd, keeps waiting for an opportunity to be near him again. It’s ridiculous. They see each other every day, but … 

But it’s not _enough_. And something about a party makes him feel lonelier than he’s ever been. 

After listening to Ashe and Dedue’s detailed account of their hydroponic garden, Sylvain seeks Felix out amid the ugly sweaters and reindeer antler headbands. He’s nowhere to be found inside the house, however, and Sylvain sighs to himself. 

_Probably ran off_ , he thinks. 

Sylvain takes another look around the house on the prowl for little hidey-holes Felix could have slinked off to, and finally settles on the kitchen door that leads to the backyard. And of course, _of course_ , Felix is sitting by himself on the porch steps in below-freezing weather. Sylvain silently praises himself for the foresight of grabbing his coat and steps behind Felix. 

“Mind if I take this seat?” Sylvain says. 

Felix doesn’t look at him. “Do what you want.” 

“Everything okay?” Sylvain asks as he sits down, frozen breath billowing from his mouth. 

Felix shrugs, his arms tightly wound around his torso. “I don’t like big parties. You know that.” 

Sylvain does know that. “How was King’s Cup?” 

“Turns out I’m very good at it. Annette wasn’t pleased,” Felix says, sounding pretty pleased himself. 

“Oh, I get it,” Sylvain says. “You’re hiding from her.” 

Felix scoffs. “As if I’m afraid of _Annette_.” 

“You’re a little afraid of Annette.” 

“Hmph,” is all Felix says to that but he doesn’t deny it. 

They fall into a silence that’s not altogether uncomfortable, but Sylvain can sense how tense Felix is. “If you want to go home, we can.”

“I don’t need you to coddle me,” Felix snaps, but it lacks real bite. Sylvain’s more than accustomed to Felix’s sharp tongue by now, and he can tell when Felix is really aiming to hurt or if he’s deflecting. And _that_ was a deflecting barb. 

Sylvain lets out a huff of air that forms like smoke in front of him. “Not coddling. Just letting you know.” 

“I just—” Felix starts, frustration clear on his face. “I’m sick of this holiday. It lasts forever and it always makes me think of …” 

Felix promptly shuts up and stares at the ground like he’s trying to melt the snow with his eyes. Sylvain doesn’t need Felix to say it to know what he means, though. 

Felix’s family is gone. His mother died when he was barely a toddler, then his brother and father died in a car accident less than two years ago. It’s only Felix’s second winter without them. Last year, Sylvain couldn’t get him out of his apartment, let alone get him to a party. 

“Sorry, Fe. But I’m serious. We can leave any time you want,” Sylvain says. Felix doesn’t look at him, but his shoulders relax. 

“I can stay awhile longer,” Felix says, quiet and contemplative. It’s times like these Sylvain wishes he could turn “best friend” into “boyfriend.” Words aren’t much comfort to Felix, but Sylvain thinks a hug might do the trick, though he’s not particularly physically affectionate either. He might be with a partner, though. Point being—Sylvain wishes he could hold him. 

Felix sighs beside him and moves his arms suddenly, pulling something shiny out of the inside of his coat and shoving it at Sylvain. “Here. It’s a gift. Don’t get a big head about it.” 

Stunned, Sylvain takes the small package from Felix—it’s small and light, wrapped in red metallic paper with a white bow. 

“I thought we said no gifts this year?” Sylvain says, his stomach fluttering despite the guilt he feels of not getting Felix anything. 

“We did. I just happened upon it and thought you’d like it, so I got it. It’s not a big deal,” Felix says with a scoff, though his cheeks look a bit red. 

Sylvain takes a breath, a small moment to just smell the winter air and feel his own heart racing in his ribcage. Felix getting him a gift for Christmas shouldn’t affect him so much—he’s done it before—but this feels different and he’s not sure why. 

He tears open the paper and the sound of ripping feels like a thunderclap out on the porch, where the only thing they can hear are the muffled voices and music from the party. 

Sylvain gasps softly when he sees what it is—a small, hand-painted still life on a muslin canvas no bigger than a postcard. Sylvain brushes his fingers gently over the texture of the paint and admires the handiwork. It’s a simple scene—impressionist with trained composition, evocative, chunky brush strokes, and bright, soft colors—just a chair in front of a windowsill with a planter full of flowers as sunlight beams through the panes of glass. It’s … peaceful. Hopeful. And maybe a bit melancholy. 

“Holy shit, Fe,” Sylvain whispers, his eyes still raking over the small painting. “Where’d you find this?” 

“Annette and I went to the boardwalk looking for a present for Mercedes. There was an artist there selling his original stuff,” Felix says and there’s something hesitant in his voice. Something careful. “You like it?” 

“It’s amazing,” Sylvain says, his cheeks straining from how hard he’s smiling. 

Felix huffs a small laugh and there’s even a beginning of a smile there. “Good.” 

“Can I ask… why did you get this?” Sylvain says. He can’t help but ask. The painting is just so… _much_ , even in its simplicity. This isn’t the kind of thing Felix has ever given him before. He usually sticks with safer options, things he _knows_ Sylvain will like: merch from one of his favorite shows, theatre tickets, or gag gifts. This is more personal. 

Felix shifts in his seat, his not-quite-a-smile fading into a grimace. “I just thought you’d like it. That’s all.” 

“Really?” Sylvain says, surprised

“Yeah. It… reminded me of you.” 

Sylvain stares at him. “Reminded you of me?” 

“That’s what I just said,” Felix snaps. 

_Reminded him of me_. The words play over and over in his mind as he takes in the painting—this bright, sunny scene that feels a bit lonely too. _Is this what he thinks of me?_

Sylvain’s feelings are too big for his body, it’s like they’re trying to burst through his chest. Felix is Sylvain’s best friend but Sylvain _loves_ him and Hilda’s _that’s why you have to tell him_ prods his heart like a sharpened scalpel. If not now, when? If he doesn’t say it when the words are practically pouring out of him, then he never will. And he’s not sure he can live with himself if he never says it. 

“Felix,” Sylvain says and his cadence sounds so foreign, even to his own ears. It’s too fond, too full of _something_. Felix’s eyes widen a fraction. 

“What is it?” The words should be cutting coming from Felix, but they aren’t. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

_Dammit._ That isn’t what Sylvain had been planning, but that’s what he says. Maybe because the actual words aren’t enough right now. He needs to _show_ how he feels about Felix. 

Felix flushes from the bridge of his nose all the way to his ears, panic filling his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. 

“Not if you’re making fun of me,” Felix says, nearly choking on the words. He looks surprised at his own response. 

“I’m not making fun of you.” 

Sylvain watches Felix swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing down then up, in slow motion. There’s a well of vulnerability in his eyes, but Sylvain can’t imagine his own eyes look much different, especially with the way Felix keeps searching them. 

Finally, Felix nods his head slightly and they’re moving closer, closing the gap. It’s a slow, steady crawl towards each other, made hazy by the condensation of their breaths mingling. And it’s _cold_. Their lips are probably dry and chapped, but then they _do_ collide and Sylvain feels a rush of warmth. It starts at his lips, then spreads to the rest of his body from the top of his head to the tips of his extremities. And it’s _soft_. Felix kisses Sylvain like he might break him. 

Sylvain’s palm finds Felix’s cheek, his thumb running along those high cheekbones and he’s utterly lost in it. He’s kissing Felix. Pissy, sarcastic, wonderful Felix. And Felix is kissing him back. 

And there’s no one egging him on to do it, either. Felix is kissing him because he _wants_ to. Because some part of him must care for Sylvain as Sylvain cares for him. 

The thought makes the slow, steady simmer in his gut turn into a raging fire and he kisses Felix even more fiercely, his free hand clutching at a patch of Felix’s coat. Felix makes a pleased little sound from the back of his throat in response. 

Sylvain isn’t sure how long they stay on the porch like that. Time fades away and not even the cold is affecting him with how warm Felix is. They pull away eventually, Felix’s lips pretty and kiss-bruised, Sylvain breathing deep and heavy. The cold air from his inhale is painful in his lungs. 

Felix licks his lips before looking back at the porch door. “Should we get back?” 

“No,” Sylvain says, humming. “No, I like it out here.” 

Felix gives him a positively dangerous smile. “Good. I hate parties anyway.” 

It’s all the invitation Sylvain needs. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos and comments are always super appreciated <3
> 
> Links: [Tumblr](http://parchmints.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/parchmints) | [my other fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parchmints/works)


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